tampered | (no subject)

Such a silly thing, that he never caught her name. He should have. In polite conversation, that's how things like this worked. Ah well. He could deal with that when he met her.

His green silk shirt is dark, almost black like the slacks he wears. Tonight, he's left his blonde hair loose. Sometimes, it's nice to have the curls free. He likes how he looks with his hair down. Particularly against his tanned skin.

None of his unnatural grace is hidden as he silently approaches her. (It's easy to find the ones who are waiting for a meeting.) Smiling, he nods to her as he gets closer.

"There is a lovely young woman I am supposed to meet here. I'm hoping you're her because if you're not then I'm going to have to bring myself into a state of humility while I apologize."

She watches him with a curiosity that's kept casual as he gets closer -- it's not hard to tell he's on his way toward her -- and when he's near enough to speak, she smiles slowly.

It's a small smile, but it's there. "Luck's on your side."

She started paying a little more attention to him on the Network after her conversation with Gren. He's a vampire, something she would've once insisted was a fictional creature, and if charm and beauty are stereotypical vampire traits, he... is a textbook example.

On a purely superficial level, she's not surprised Gren's attracted to that.

"I'm Julia."

Julia.

That name instantly rings bells in his mind. Of a young woman who was in Gren's story when he was allowed to enter his mind. Looking at her curiously, his smile never fades.

She's a very beautiful woman.

"It's a pleasure, Julia. My name is Lestat."

He offers his hand to her.

Taking his hand, she gives it a firm shake. "Lestat."

As much as she'd like to keep quiet about Gren and simply see how things unfold, she knows the coincidence will come up sooner or later. And better now than later; there's little use in being too coy.

Her head tips slightly to the side as she lets go of his hand. "It's good to meet you. I think we have a mutual friend."

So this is Gren's Julia. His gaze softens. The smile lingers but now he's not trying to charm a stranger. Even if he doesn't know her, he can no longer qualify her as that.

He responds to her simply. Just one name.

"Gren."

The softening around his eyes is recognition or fondness, she thinks. And possibly both.

To answer, she nods. "He's a very good friend of mine."

A hint of affection lies under her words, but she doesn't say anything about the little she knows of Lestat or his relationship with Gren.

She turns slightly. "Shall we?"

The pool tables won't be going anywhere, but shooting pool is what they originally agreed to met for. In her opinion, a first pool game against someone is a decent way to learn a few things about him.

A very good friend. He'd remember that. She's clearly fond of Gren, another fact he'll keep in mind.

"Please, lead the way."

It's been years since he last played pool. It was in...the '80s perhaps? That is if his memory serves him correctly. He hadn't played since then. However, he still retained his memories of how to play.

Of course, he might have to be careful with how well he could play. Being a vampire led to many talents after watching humans for long enough. Mimicking mortal movement and improving is a simple task for him anymore. Almost habit.

Even though she's as cool and calm about it as possible, she pays close attention to him. Why Gren would be attracted to him is already obvious enough -- with Gren's love of beauty, how could it be any other way? -- but there are a few things she wants to satisfy her curiosity about.

Like... what is Lestat all about? What about him moved Gren out of firmly denying attraction to almost everybody to being willing to take up with someone -- a vampire, as hard as it is to think in those terms -- he knew he'd have to share with other people? Is he good for Gren?

She doesn't particularly care what Lestat is at this point, but she does know that if he ever hurt Gren physically she would do something about it.

Gren's emotions are too late to guard.

"Lestat is an unusual name. You're the first I've met." She leads him companionably in the direction of the nearest bar she knows of with pool tables. There are two inside, but since it's only a weeknight at least one of them should be free when they get there.

It doesn't go unnoticed that he's being studied. However, once an actor, always an actor. He can easily act as if he's completely unawares of what she is doing.

"You will probably never meet another like me, Julia. I'm unique in many aspects. But, if we only speak about my name then that is because I was born in France during the 1700s."

He's at a bit of a disadvantage, he's sure. Gren's spoken very little about her. Probably to protect her in some manner. The only things he knows are what he got from Gren's memories. That's very little though.

What she knows about him though is a mystery. He may learn that as the night progresses. It will take patience but after living for over two hundred years, he's very good with patience.

"Oh?"

Lestat's confidence is practically tangible already, and his charm seems second-nature. She doesn't know what Gren's past loves have been like, but if the interest he took in Vicious is any indication, he's definitely attracted to confidence.

"And how else are you unique?"

Another small smile plays on her lips. "Was Lestat a common name in that period? I'm afraid I don't know a lot about the culture of France back then."

"I'm two hundred and thirty-one years old now. That is certainly unique in some worlds."

Slowly, his head turns towards her. He studies her for a moment or two. It would be so easy for this woman to remind him of his Gabrielle. So easy. But, he doesn't allow such thoughts to enter his mind.

"As for my name, no. I do not think I ever heard another person with the name Lestat during those days. My thoughts are that my mother found it beautiful to the tongue."

Nothing about Lestat looks a few centuries old.

She's convinced -- but maybe it's just from knowing the little she does about him -- that he could never blend in fully. It's as if he moves too... silently or easily or gracefully. Where she can see, she thinks, how Gren would appreciate that, she's been so wary over the past few years that continuing to be that way about anyone she knows who isn't quite what they seem is just...

It's instinctive.

"It would be unique where I'm from."

If there's one thing her Earth and Mars aren't known for, it's vampires. Only on Halloween.

As they reach the bar's entrance, she opens the door for them both to step inside. "Mothers tend to do that kind of thing. My own named me after a song."

Bars are places he's used to and despite his appearance, he blends in easily. Like any good predator. And with all the practice he's had, he would certainly call himself a 'good predator'.

There are men and women who look up at their arrival. Beauty will always be something that attracts people. No matter how much ugliness is adored.

"Goodnight, Julia perhaps? I rather enjoy that particular one."

Nods and smiles are given to those around him. Charming but polite. Never moving past that. Nothing personal.

Around him, he catches all the scents typically associated with a place like this. It has always fascinated him.

"I could probably ask my own mother were she here. Though, she may not wish to remember her human days."

He's easily pleasant in passing to other people, and curious, she watches how people react to him as much as she keeps an eye on him.

"It might be that that song is named after me."

She says it with a ghost of a smile on her face. In actuality, she was named after a very different kind of song. (when I cannot sing my heart I can only speak my mind) And as far as taste in music goes, she thinks she takes after her mother more often than not.

As she moves toward the back of the bar, where the pool tables are, she takes a moment to light herself a cigarette. "Was she unhappy then? Your mother?"

The traces of a newly lit cigarette catch his attention immediately causing his eyes to slide down to watch it. A scent so unique. Nothing like the cigarettes of years ago.

"My mother was left alone much of the time. Forgotten. When I changed her, she was very ill. Dying, in fact. Gabrielle has embraced her nature so completely that she wouldn't wish to linger on memories of a human past."

Ah yes. His Gabrielle. His first fledgling and his mother. So independent. A nostalgic smile traces his lips.

"Many vampires do not wish to recall their human lives."

The idea makes her mouth quirk in a reluctant -- and unexpected -- smile, and she lets out a long exhale of smoke, eyes appraising him again.

"You..." She'll use his terminology here. "Changed your mother to keep her from dying?"

He didn't strictly say so, but it feels like the implication.

Her pace as she reaches the nearest abandoned pool table is almost leisurely, and with her cigarette tucked between her lips, she picks up a cue. "You wouldn't think they have a choice."

Hundreds of years would mean some things are forgotten, she's sure. She doesn't remember what she was like at two and three. But the things that affect you the most stay with you whether you want them to or not.

"Are you one of those who'd rather not remember?"

She catches on quickly. He likes that in people.

"I did change her to keep her from dying. After I told her what I was, she asked it of me."

And then Gabrielle had wandered through time with him for awhile. Their paths had separated but even now he couldn't help being fond of those memories from so long ago. Besides, he has seen her recently. Just several years ago.

"And, I think it might be a little late for me to rather not remember. I've already published a book or three."

Taking a cue for himself, he feels it beneath his fingers. The smell of Julia's cigarette is still fresh in his nose as he stands there. Ladies first.

She pauses for a moment, the glowing orange end of her cigarette dipping as her mouth moves. "You've published books?"

That's possibly one of the last things she expected him to say.

"About your life?"

For a moment, amusement wants to shine in her eyes, and she looks away as she edges around the table, racking up the balls. It could almost be said that she moves around the pool table with more ease than she does around the kitchen of her own apartment here, and she's aware of it.

She lines up her first shot, breaking, and easily sinks two, a striped and a solid. Making her usual claim of solids, she moves on to her second shot and then her third before she comes up short and misses. "Were they marketed as fiction or biography?"

Stripes are his then. Moving forward, he takes his first shot, followed by a second a second. All of his movements a perfect imitation of the best pool players he's seen.

"Fact or fiction depends most upon the reader. Some believe it a biography. Though, they are rare to be had. Most believe the books fiction."

He makes a third shot then finds himself in a position where he cannot easily get to any of his. Very well.

Smiling to himself, he knocks the cue ball into the very center of that mess. Just to make it difficult for her to hit it. And why not offer a challenge?

His turn is the perfect opportunity to watch him as closely as she wants without drawing unwanted attention to it.

If he feels he's under scrutiny, she can't deny that he is. It's a guarded scrutiny, for the most part, and a thorough one, but it's not harsh. She's been given no reason for it to be yet.

When he'd implied he could be out of practice at pool, she'd taken it with a grain of salt. She's known people to say that and then shoot like a pro and people who've said that and played a beginner's game.

Lestat knows what he's doing, moves like he was born to do it, and just gave her an obvious challenge.

She likes challenges. The way she paces around to the opposite side of the table, pool cue in hand, is predatory. She can spot her best shots in seconds, and unable to resist rising to the challenge, she goes for the most difficult one first.

Half-draped over the table, she lines up her shot. "Why did you write them?"

Cue connects with ball, and her target ball hits the railing hard, neatly breaks up a party of three on its way to the far corner pocket, and wobbles slightly before sinking.

She raises her eyes and smiles -- just barely -- before she moves on to her second shot. "If you'd wanted to, you could have kept the story to yourself. What inspired you to offer it to everyone?"

Edited 2008-10-13 00:12 (UTC)

He's not one to ignore an excellent view. And this presentation of her half-draped across the table is one to be admired. Beauty should not be missed. Smiling in a lazy manner, he watches her make the shot.

He even claps for her when she does.

"Why not share my story? When I awoke in the '80s I discovered that Louis had already shared his story. It was so fascinating to discover that. A few facts were false though. So, I become inspired to tell my own story. First my history, then the next tale, then the next."

For a second or two, he ponders what she's noticing with him. It's a curiosity that he can't resist.

At the applause, her smile threatens to widen. She acknowledges it with an amused glance in his direction before she makes the second shot -- a much easier one -- and then sizes up the layout of the table before her third.

It's no surprise to her that he'd want to set the record straight. So many people she's known would jump at an opportunity to, and most of those are very set in their ways. She can only imagine what two hundred years would do to compound that.

"Who's Louis?"

She sinks her third shot with little trouble, but with the solids becoming so scarce, her fourth attempt falls short of its mark. At least it manages to knock the nearest striped ball farther away from the pocket; every good turn deserves another, and he's one of the better opponents she's had for pool since...

(Since Spike disappeared.)

A trace of satisfaction lingers on her face as she takes a step back from the table, her cigarette between her fingers, to make room for Lestat's turn.

"A companion from home. Another fledgling of mine."

Leaning over the table ever so slightly he eyes the stripes that are left. Hm... He lines up a shot, clearly going for two at once.

"I wasn't related to him when I changed him though. He is my third."

The cue ball smacks into the first which hits the second into the pocket. And then the first follows in after it. That evens things slightly. Swinging his head around, he eyes the next ball he's after.

While he lines it up, he smiles. Somehow, that smile is directed towards her. "You have a natural grace around the pool table."

"That's what you call people you've changed?" It barely sounds like a question. "Fledgling?"

She doesn't have any better suggestions for what they should be called, but it sounds so strange and formal to her ears.

Though her own personal haze of smoke, her eyes focused on how he's setting up his next shot, she almost smiles again. "Pool has been one of the few constants in my life."

"It is." The shot is made and the ball falls easily into the pocket. Hm...he should play this more often.

"Tell me something, do you always win?"

The question is offered mostly because he's so very curious. But, there is also a chance that he could win this game.

So, why not ask?